Spiegeler belonged to the would-be witty daily writers, who are not alarmed at any impertinence to the descendants of Saphir, whose star at that time was already on the wane; he wished to make himself talked about and feared, he cared not at what cost; in every artist he did but perceive a victim of his wit, and examined that victim until he had discovered the vulnerable heel of Achilles for his dart. He piqued himself upon his rudenesses, his existence depended upon them. In middle class life it often befell him that he was turned out of public-houses on account of his unseemly conduct; everywhere he was exposed to a by no means silent contempt; at the same time in literary and theatrical circles he was deemed a magnate, and there all strove to win his good-will. But the latter always remained uncertain, because for the sake of a happy idea he would even sacrifice his friends. He was so touchingly innocent that he was never even conscious of his own impudence; he considered wit to be his profession, and in that profession everything was allowable. Without blushing he stretched out the hand of friendship to those into whose heart he had on the previous day plunged a dagger with the skill of a literary bravo, and then wondered why his friendly greeting was not reciprocated. Such parasitical existences more than aught else have brought literature into disrepute in middle class German life, because the German cannot bring himself to admire that which in other respects he despises! Certainly in literature the portals are thrown widely open even to these sharks; under the banner of so-called talent even the most miserable characterless creatures are smuggled in, and when such a shameless pretender of wit composes an immature piece which only possesses dramatic joints in however slight a degree, and ill or well can move upon the boards, immediately many court theatres, which have long since learned to treat as rubbish all productions of true talent, hasten to bring out that drama or after-piece, so as to pay homage to a young genius, or much more, to render themselves secure against the ruthless lash of the literary clown. Spiegeler certainly had not yet made any attempt upon the domain of original art; but in all other qualities he did not deny the type of the so-called wit, above all not in indifference towards every description of chastisement which did not extend so far as the laying on of hands. For him moral annihilation did not exist, and he was wont to return with great freedom from embarrassment whithersoever such acts of homage had been his portion.